Brother against Brother
by Mounty Swiss
Summary: Ironside's team is in danger – from an entirely unexpected side. Set late season 2, spring 1969
1. Chapter 1

Ironside: Brother against Brother

Drama / crime

Ironside's team is in danger – from an entirely unexpected side.

Set late season 2, spring 1969

**Prologue**

Sgt. Ed Brown was driving through the quiet neighborhood at a leisurely pace. The window on the driver's side was open to let the soft evening air in. He had been to a football game opposing "The Mambas", the team Mark's friend Bat Masterson had founded*, to another local team. The Mambas was composed of kids from difficult backgrounds. Since their alcohol and drug consumption had been cut down they were getting quite good, and each victory on the field was a personal victory for each and every kid. Ed was thinking of one of their problem children: Hermy who had been caught shoplifting. The Chief had put his weight in to give him a second chance and Hermy had been smart enough to seize the opportunity. He was now a fine young man and the captain of the team. It was very satisfying to see how young people made their way when given the necessary support...

"Ka-shh!"

Ed jumped in his seat. Without any warning his pleasant thoughts had been interrupted by the sound of a breaking window coming from a house a few feet ahead to hisleft. He then heard an ear-piercing noise: a woman was screaming. Ed stopped by the roadside. Jumping out of his Ford Sedan he saw out of the corner of his eye a shadow running past his car. Seconds later, a dark cabriolet which was parked nearby, drove off so fast that it left tire marks on the asphalt and white smoke in its wake. Ed got out of his car to try to read the license number but in the twilight he only managed to decipher the first three letters: DOW. Another human shadow – or was it the same one as before? – moved swiftly around the corner and vanished out of his sight.

Ed ran towards the house. He noticed three letter boxes as he reached the entrance of the building. The front door had been left wide open; obviously the fleeing person had let it that way. The scream had come from the first floor, Ed was sure about that. He hurried up the stairs. The apartment door to the right was ajar. An old-fashioned sign was hanging on the door: "Mrs. B. King". Ed knocked but there was no response. He hesitated a moment, then pushed the door open.

In the living room, below a broken window, lay an elderly Afro-American woman, motionless, blood from a head wound forming into a puddle on the carpet; the bleeding didn't look life-threatening though. "Madam?" Ed asked, though he didn't really expect an answer. Quickly he knelt down. He could not feel any breathing nor pulse. After checking that the airways were clear, he quickly started the chest compressions and rescue breaths. Mrs. King needed an ambulance, and fast... but he didn't want to stop the life-saving emergency procedure. Continuing CPR he tilted a chair over with his foot, hoping that somebody might hear it. A minute later he shouted between two breaths: "Help!" and then again and again.

Finally he heard quick, close footsteps. He turned his head to see a very old woman approaching. She had to be at least eighty-five years old: A tiny being with a shriveling face, staring blankly first at him then at the women on the floor, speechless. "Madam," he gasped, "please call an ambulance, quickly!" Ed kept it short as speaking cost him a lot of breath. He needed to spare as much as he could in order to carry on with the rescue old woman found her voice again: "Who are you, young man, and what are you doing here?" Her voice sounded like that of a teacher chastising a schoolboy who has forgotten his homework.

Shouting at her would not help. Distressed Ed replied: "I'm a police officer, and this woman needs an ambulance. Please call one. Then come back to me. Can you do that for me?"

"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" she asked reproachfully and turned around, obviously to go back to her own apartment. There had to be a phone in this apartment as well, but he couldn't see it right now, and he didn't want to upset the old lady any further, so he let her go.

Ed went on and on with his work. There was no change to the unconscious woman's condition. The old lady didn't come back. Had she understood him at all? He was getting tired, he needed help... Finally he heard the siren of an ambulance. And now even the neighbor came back. She just stood there marveling at what he was doing. "Please show the paramedics the way!" he wheezed, and this time she seemed to understand him at once.

The paramedics were good at their job.

When they took over, Ed felt greatly relieved. They gave the patient a shot of adrenaline and immediately she started breathing again. When her heart rate was stabilized, she was moved to a stretcher.

"How long have you been doing this?" asked one of them. Ed didn't know exactly, but it had been at least twenty minutes.

"And how long between the heart attack and the beginning of your compressions?"

"Around two minutes, three at the most, I'd say, but I can't be sure."

As the paramedics were ready to leave, Ed held the door open for them to wheel the stretcher out.

"What can you tell us about her medical history?" they asked.

"Nothing, I don't even know her. I was just passing by when I heard her scream." They had reached the ambulance now. Ed showed his badge. "Sgt. Brown, SFPD. Please notify me when you know more, will you?"

One of the paramedics nodded. "Well done, Sergeant!" he said, and they drove off.

Ed went back into the house. The old woman was still standing in the hallway between the two apartments on the first floor.

"Good evening, Madam." Again Ed introduced himself. "Thank you very much for your help."

"How is my daughter?"

"She is alive, but I can't tell you anything else, I'm very sorry." So he had learned something more. He glanced at the door behind her where another of those old signs was hanging. This one said: 'Mrs. G. Lincoln'.

"What happened to Bertha?" Mrs. Lincoln wanted to know.

"Perhaps we can find that out together. Would you come back with me into her apartment, please?"

It turned out that she hadn't heard anything until Ed started his ruckus. She must have been asleep and awoken by her daughter's scream, but she couldn't remember the scream itself. She had heard a sound – supposedly when Ed had tipped the chair over – but she had thought that her great-grandchildren who lived downstairs had come back. They had gone out to get some ice cream. When she had heard the shouts she had stood up. Now she was looking around and pulled out two drawers. "My daughter's purse and jewelry are gone." Of course Mrs. Lincoln didn't know who had been in her daughter's apartment and had likely taken her possessions.

Ed assumed that the thief had pushed her and that her heart had stopped beating after the fall. He begged Mrs. Lincoln not to touch anything in the apartment until the police would have secured all possible evidence.

"Madam, would you like me to wait with you until your relatives come back?"

She eyed him, stunned. "Do you think I need a baby-sitter?" she asked indignantly.

* * *

_(*Let my Brother go)_

_Author's note: Chief fans, please be patient – he will show up very soon!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Day 1**

Ed drove downtown back to headquarters. He wanted to report the robbery and assault to the police. He tried to recall every detail about the car and the person passing him to be able to describe them as well as possible. The first shadow he had seen was most probably the assailant. But was this the person who left on foot or had he or she jumped into the cabriolet? Which one of those two persons might be the assailant and which a possible witness?

Ed decelerated abruptly when he came into view of the 'Lighthouse'*, a place he knew well. He slowed down to a crawl, causing a cacophony of horns behind him. He ignored it and swiftly pulled into the parking lot of the nightclub. He reached the dark cabriolet that had caught his attention from the main road. Sure enough, it fitted the description of the car he had witnessed drive off and its license plate started with 'DOW'. Ed selected a parking space close to the suspicious car and entered the 'Lighthouse'. He started looking around, wondering if he might recognize the frame of the driver of the cabriolet as being his first 'shadow'.

Mark Sanger was sitting at a table, which was not unusual. Without being regulars, the two men often took their dates there. At the same table Ed saw the most beautiful Afro-American girl he had ever seen. The sight took his breath away, not because she was gorgeous but because his gut instinct told him that she _was _the person whose shadow he had first seen in front of the house he had left just minutes ago.

Ed squinted his eyes and tried to imagine her silhouette in the twilight. The result remained the same. This meant that he had most likely found Mrs King's assailant: The young woman had passed him and driven off in the cabriolet.

At this very instant Mark spotted him.

"Hey, man, come over here!"

Slowly Ed moved over to his table.

"Ed, meet wonderful Alicia. Alicia, despite his appearance Ed Brown is a nice guy, even if he is a police Sergeant."

Alicia threw Ed a brilliant smile. "Nice to meet you, Sergeant!"

Ed knew that he had to say something back but he felt like petrified. "How do you do?" he managed finally. After he had swallowed the lump in his throat he asked: "Is that your cabriolet out there?" He gestured towards the parking lot. "The dark one right there?"

Alicia's eyes followed the direction Ed was indicating. "Yes, do you like it?" she answered casually.

"Mark, how long have you been here together?" Ed asked.

"About an hour, don't you think so?" Alicia answered in Mark's place.

"Oh, that long? I didn't pay attention. Time passes quickly in such wonderful company. But Ed, what's the matter with you?! Mark knew his friend too well not to notice that something was wrong with him.

"Nothing. Excuse me. Have a nice evening."

Briskly Ed turned around and left. He had no proof that Alicia had been in Mrs. King's apartment. And if it was true that they had been at the restaurant for an hour, then she could not be the driver of the car he had seen. Yet he had only her word for that.

He needed more time – and of course more information.

**Day 2**

Because Ed had to do some research on a murder case on his way to work, he only arrived at the office slightly after 10 am. Ironside had gone down to the Commissioner's, but Mark was in doing his homework. Several big law books were spread across the table. When Ed came in Mark rose and came to meet his friend at the top of the ramp. "Hey, man, was that a way to treat a beautiful girl yesterday?"

Taking off his jacket Ed didn't answer directly. Instead he asked: "Mark – how long had you _really_ been together yesterday when I came in?"

"I can't remember. But answer my question. What _is _the matter with you?" Mark was definitely getting angry now.

Ed took a deep breath. "I'm afraid that Alicia may have left the apartment of an old woman who had just been assaulted and robbed, but that was less than an hour before I met you at the 'Lighthouse'. The woman almost died, and she still might."

Furious, Mark took another step towards Ed. "Are you out of your mind? Did you see her?"

"I saw a car exactly like hers and a part of _her_ license number. And I saw a shadow which I think was her."

"How dare you!"

Out of the blue Mark grabbed Ed by the shoulders and smashed him violently against the wall. It hurt, for at the height of Ed's war wound was a decorative dado rail.

A year ago, Ed had been able to subdue Mark, and he assumed that he probably still could, although Mark had become stronger and heavier since then.** He didn't want to start a fight, hence damaging their friendship, maybe permanently. Trying not to enrage Mark any further Ed turned his head away, in the hope that the situation would not escalate. Yet Mark forced him away from the wall only to push him violently back again, with all the strength his fury had set free. This time Ed didn't quite manage to suppress a cry of pain. It was drowned though by Mark's irate remark: "Now lemme tell you something..."

"Mark, stop that at once!" Ironside shouted. He had just entered the office and could not believe what he was seeing. "What in blue blazes got into the two of you?" he asked furiously, rolling nearer.

Mark pushed Ed's arms against the wall one last time as if to show him that he had the upper hand. Then he let go, throwing him a glare. If looks could kill…

"Ed swears that he saw my girl stealing!"

"Is that right, Sergeant?" Ironside barked.

"Well, not quite..." Ed managed. His low voice sounded strained.

"Then how come that Mark _thinks_ it is?"

"He saw a shadow and half the license plate of a car!" Mark almost spat out and then he retired into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Ironside looked skeptically at his Sergeant, who slowly sat down and put his elbows on the table and his head into his hands.

"I _do_ understand Mark," the Chief said.

Ed's answer was hardly audible: "So do I."

"Can you give me an explanation?"

"No, Sir." Ed still didn't look up.

For the second time in the space of two minutes Ironside was taken aback.

"I'll go get those files you wanted," Ed said stiffly and left, hanging his head, clearly shutting out everything and everyone.

"Ed!" shouted the Chief, but Ed was already at the door.

So much for a friendly, productive working atmosphere, Ironside thought frustrated. With so many cases to solve, he didn't need any dissensions within his team. Those men were like brothers, enemy brothers at the moment. They were supposed to be responsible adults. Yet this childish behavior was totally out of character for both Ed and Mark. If only Eve would be back soon. She was on a flying visit to Paris with her parents. Without her, the team was just not the same. Not to mention that it was impossible to get on with the case load he was lumbered with with only the Sergeant at work – and possibly a Sergeant who didn't really put his mind into his work right now. Sometimes it was almost too much, even for someone like the Chief who was used to working almost day and night. Sucking it up Ironside picked up the file of the next urgent case.

**Day 3**

The next morning, Commissioner Randall walked in well before office hours. "Bob! Where's that Sergeant of yours?" He was decidedly angry. "Do you have any idea what happened to my wife and me last night on our way home from the opera? We were almost run over ... by your Sergeant Brown! And it sure is not thanks to _him_ that our cars don't have two nice, big dents now!"

"Good morning, Commissioner. I congratulate you for your presence of mind."

"This is not funny, Bob. My wife was deeply shocked."

"Ed was on duty last night. He may have been tailing a suspect."  
Ironside was of the opinion that he knew the weaknesses of his people quite well. And he wanted them to outgrow those weaknesses. Yet reckless driving was not normally one of Ed's. After a moment of consideration he proposed: "Let me deal with him."

"Alright Bob, but don't handle him with kids gloves again!" This gave Randall a powerful exit.

"I will handle him my way," Ironside grumbled when the Commissioner was – almost – out the door.

When Ed entered the office two minutes later he still looked withdrawn... and as if he had a killer hangover. His bearing was rigid and unnatural. Mark was preparing breakfast. He gave Ed an angry look, causing Ed to refuse any food. They did not exchange a single word. Mark just took his plate and retired into his room.

Ironside didn't confront Ed, and he didn't mention the Commissioner either. Perhaps he would later, he thought. But he felt weighed down by the gloomy atmosphere in the office.

"How did you get on with the Morgan murder?" he wanted to know instead.

"I confirmed his wife's alibi. Webber is still the main suspect. He says he was home alone during the night of the murder."

"What else?"

"Not much."

Ironside raised his eyebrows and his voice. "You won't tell me that it took you almost twenty-four hours to find that out! And you won't tell me either that you went to sleep last night, will you?"

"No, Sir."

"So – what were you up to then?"

Keeping his eyes down Ed answered in a whisper: "I tailed Alicia, Mark's girlfriend. She takes drugs."

Ironside exploded. "That may be very interesting, but it's none of your business! We don't investigate simple thefts, we don't tail simple junkies and you won't interfere in Mark's affairs anymore. I expect you to earn your salary and do as you are asked to do!"

Ed pressed out between clenched teeth: "You know that I do my best."

"That may be, but it has to be better than what I get these days!" countered the Chief furiously.

Couldn't Ed and Mark understand how much harm they did with their silly behavior, to the cause they supposedly worked for, to one another and of course also to him personally? Together with Eve they were his hand-picked team, San Francisco's finest, he had thought. Had he thought wrong? And then there was the pressure put on him by the Commissioner who expected him to solve the most difficult cases in record time and without stepping on anyone's toes.

"And by the way Commissioner Randall wasn't pleased with your driving style last night."

Ed just stood there as if he had swallowed a poker, not saying a single word, his most stubborn mule-look on his face. He had indeed been focused on tailing the girl and hadn't paid attention to traffic. What could he say in his defense?

Ironside felt as if he were talking to a wall. Enraged and gutted about Brown he would have liked to tell him off, but he did not want to add to Ed's distress right now. The heavy silence told the Sergeant enough though. "Carry on with the investigation. I want to see results," the Chief added finally.

* * *

* The place Eve took her prince charming to in Good Will Tour, S3

**Due Process of the Law


	3. Chapter 3

The door opened and Eve walked in – beautiful, jolly Eve with her bright smile and clad in the latest model from Paris. Her presence seemed to light up the office, and Ironside's mood changed instantly. She was exactly what he needed right now.

Ed greeted her: "Hello, Eve." He smiled at her – the smile didn't reach his eyes though.

He thought that Eve would be on Mark's side. She would know that the boy needed her. In that case the situation would get even more difficult for himself: He felt surrounded by people who silently or openly condemned what he was doing.

He was rather the earnest type anyway, but now his usual charm and easy-going professionalism weredisappearing behind a dismissive attitude.

Irritated Eve watched him when he left to question another witness. Due to his long, lanky arms and legs his movements always looked a little awkward. But now something was just not right: He used the ramp, stiffening even further when he passed Mark who had come back to the stove, and his steps seemed to be clumsier than usual.

"Now, what's the matter with him?" Eve asked surprised.

"He is on the warpath," Mark said in a disgusted tone. "He wants to pin a theft and an assault on my girlfriend. This time I'm really pissed off with this jerk."

Mark didn't care for another cop around, not even Eve. And if he had to fight the whole SFPD he would do just that. His normally joyful mood had vanished and he paced around, anger showing on his face. Ironside thought that he behaved like the angry boy he had been two years ago. Ed as being the older one should have known better than to provoke him like that.

Ironside sighed and Eve understood. The atmosphere in the office had changed radically since she had left.

The Chief explained to her the status of investigations she would have to work on, leaving the Morgan murder to Ed, and she started reading the files.

That evening, Mark dated Alicia. This time she was not wearing fancy jeans but a very short dress in bright red, and she generously showed off her perfect white teeth. Her beauty was matched by her quick wits. Mark knew that everybody in the restaurant was watching them. He should have been proud and happy. Yet Alicia felt that he was somehow absent-minded and asked him why. He made an effort: He would _not_ let Ed spoil an evening that promised to be wonderful!

"Remember the cop who behaved so strangely when we met last time? I thought he was my friend, but now I'm at serious odds with him. It's about a robbery and assault. He uttered some wild accusations against somebody I know. Of course the Chief stopped him. I wish the Chief would investigate the case himself. He might do just that if his ex prize-pupil keeps annoying him with it. He will find out the truth and tell off that dirty bum."

Alicia's bright smile let him forget his problems – at least for the time being.

Day 4

Ironside was sitting at the breakfast table when an overtired and ramrod straight Ed walked in the next morning. Mark didn't even offer him any coffee.

"Did you spend the night dogging Alicia again?" Mark asked acridly instead. He got no answer and retreated to his room,sulking.

Their childish behavior got already on Ironside's nerves again. "What do you have on the case?" he snapped.

Ed laid a thin folder onto the table in front of him, explaining what he had found out about the Morgan murder. This was the kind of work the Chief expected from him – and what he usually got. "And what did you do with the rest of your time?" His joking question was already meant as half of a peace offer.

Ed didn't tell him that he had spent more than half the night on the Morgan-murder investigation, just to satisfy the Chief - after having paid a visit to Mrs. King, the victim of the assault. She was still not responsive, but he somehow felt attached to her. And yes, it was true, three hours had passed while he had been waiting in front of Alicia's parents' house, without any result. After that he had not bothered going to bed anymore. So – what should he have replied?

Enraged all over again about the Sergeant's obvious rebelliousness the Chief was about to give him a roasting. For a very short moment Ed looked up and Ironside got a quick glance into his brown eyes. What he read there perplexed him. He would have expected to see anger, resistance, defiance - or perhaps, knowing the man, a bad conscience. But there were none of these feelings. There was _pain_.

The Chief's fury evaporated within a second and made way for deep concern, although his face didn't show the change of his feelings.

If his Sergeant could just _say_ what the problem was! He knew that Ed Brown desperately tried to please him. He had accepted Mark as an equal because the Chief had wanted him to accept the former delinquent, and Ironside had thought that they had become friends over the past two years. Now Ed mistrusted Mark's girl. He may be upset because he feared for their friendship; and he had good reason to fear for it. He probably felt like he was betraying his friend, and that hurt. Was that what he had seen in those tired eyes? The pain of losing a very good friend?

Ironside was not sure. He had to know more. He couldn't risk losing the most precious gift he had since he had been paralyzed: His team. He would investigate this case personally, before it would destroy their friendship. But he didn't want Ed on the job, not in the mental state he was in at the moment.

His voice was quiet when he addressed Brown again: "Sergeant, I want you to do the murder investigation on Morgan full-time from now on. Do I make myself clear?"

Ed nodded and stood up, still uncommunicative, and moved stiffly over to his desk where he started to work on his files.

Ironside left his cold bacon and eggs and wheeled himself up the ramp. Ed was obviously too focused on those files to notice that he could give him a push, and the Chief didn't call him.

He went down to headquarters and asked for the reports of the list ofrobbery/assault casesof the day before yesterday. He knew enough to find instantly the right one. As it was to be expected, Ed had filled out the report perfectly. He hadn't mentioned that he had done the life-saving emergency procedures. The paramedics had added that without those, Mrs. Bertha King would doubtlessly have been dead when the ambulance arrived. She was 67, Afro-American, short and slim. The last entry from the evening before described her condition as still critical and her as being unresponsive. Her mother, Mrs. Gladys Lincoln, 89, who lived in the same house, had indicated that her daughter's purse and jewelry had been stolen. She had not been able to give a description of the jewelry, she indicated that it had no real value other than sentimental. She didn't know either how much money was in the red leather purse. All she was certain of was that her daughter never kept much cash in the house. Ed had seen a person running away from the house, gender unknown, height about 5 ft 8, slim, with short and curly hair. A pedestrian and a dark blue Buick Skylark cabriolet, 1964 model, license number starting with DOW, had left the place shortly afterwards. Apart from Ed's the police had not found any distinct finger prints which didn't belong to the family in the apartment or on the door.

Ironside frowned. So Ed hadn't even seen the possible assailant well enough to be sure of their gender. How could he be positive it was Alicia? It could have been the pedestrian as well. There were too many uncertainties. Obviously the Sergeant had come to a deadlock in this case. But if the Chief wanted Mark and Ed to bury the hatchet and his team to get back on track he would have to solve the case, besides all the other work he had.

He knew that he should ask Commissioner Randall for official permission to investigate the case. He was not convinced though that this was exactly the right time to bother him with this task... Well, he would do what his Sergeant had done: investigate the case unofficially. If Ed did a good job with the murder investigation, Randall would probably not even notice that Ironside and Mark or Eve had hunted on other grounds...

Back in his office he sent Mark to traffic squad to see if there were any other Buick Skylark cabriolets registered under license numbers beginning with "DOW" besides Alicia's.

Mark was still not inclined to be any friendlier towards Ed and not even towards the Chief himself; he seemed to mistrust him as if he might be an allied for the Sergeant. Yet he was motivated to help Ironside find the real criminal in order to prove Brown wrong.

And he was successful: he found an exact match. Make, model and license number all fitted with the description Ed had given. The car was registered to a Mr. Hubert Falk.

Minutes later, Mark and the Chief were on their way. Falk lived in a nice one family house. Mark took a quick look through the small window of the garage door. "The cabriolet is in there," he informed Ironside. Then he pulled his boss' wheelchair up over two flat steps towards the entrance door.

A chubby little woman around fifty opened the door. Ironside showed her his badge. "Good morning, madam. My name is Ironside, I'm with the SFPD, and this is Mr. Sanger. Are you Mrs. Falk?"

"Yes, Sir." Her voice sounded anxious and insecure.

"May we talk to you for a moment?"

"Of course, please come in."

"Damnit, what's the matter, Gerda? If those are hawkers again I don't want you to let them in, or I will throw them out personally!" shouted a bearish voice from somewhere in the background.

"Please forgive my husband. He's sometimes a little impatient when he is working in his office and feels disturbed."

Mark thought that this was probably the understatement of the year. Like Ironside he was able to take a quick glance into the homeowner's office. The man didn't only _sound_ bearish, he also looked it. No way Ed could have mistaken Alicia for him.

Mrs. Falk showed them into a comfortably furnished living-room. "Take a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you. We have just a few questions." But it didn't come to that. This time a young voice was heard from upstairs: "Mum, where the hell are my new black pants? I want to wear them today.I told you to wash them!"

Mrs. Falk looked tortured. "Jens should be at school, but he didn't feel so good this morning..."

A moment later the young patient was standing in the living-room, clad in blue jeans and with a furious look on his face, and apparently every trace of illness had miraculously vanished. When he saw the two strangers he had at least the grace to keep his mouth shut.

"Jens, these gentlemen are Mr. Ironside and Mr. Sanger. They are with the police."

"Hello, Jens," Ironside greeted the boy.

Mark couldn't say a word: Jens was about seventeen years old, 5 ft 9, slim and had brown, curly hair!


	4. Chapter 4

Mark didn't know if he should feel relieved, triumphant, angry at Ed for pretending false rumors... or just happy that the case was already solved. This _had_ to be the person Ed had seen, the description fitted perfectly.

"Jens, where were you the evening before yesterday?" Ironside asked.

"I won't say anything. I have the right to an attorney."

Ironside snorted. "Up to now I haven't charged you with anything. I have asked you a simple question."

"Jens, please..." begged Mrs. Falk.

"I was nowhere, just driving around."

"In your father's car?"

"Yes – is that a crime? Have the police nothing better to do than to pursue kids who borrow their parents' cars? I have a driver's license!"

"Jens, you know that your father doesn't like it when you take the car without asking him first!" Mrs. Falk threw in. Mark thought that it might be a little late to start with Jens's education.

"Mrs. Falk, I'm afraid that we have to take your son with us to headquarters for questioning," Ironside said. "A police officer saw a person whose description your son might fit who was involved in a criminal offence."

She nodded, tears in her eyes.

"I didn't do anything. But if I say no you will charge me with something, won't you?" asked Jens.

"I would appreciate it if you came with us voluntarily."

"Okay, let's get it over with."

From the paddy wagon Ironside radioed to the office to make sure that Sergeant Brown would be there. So Ed was expecting them. He opened the door for them.

"Now, is this or is this not the person you saw?" Mark asked impatiently.

Ed had no time to answer, because Jens attacked him furiously, pushing the much taller man against the wall with unexpected vigor and spitting into his face.

"You dirty punk, what do you want to pin on me?" he shouted.

Mark grabbed him from behind, since Ed just stood there and didn't defend himself. He pulled his handkerchief out of his trousers pocket and cleaned his face.

The Chief had watched him closely. For a second he thought that he saw the same kind of pain in his eyes as earlier, but then the Sergeant had his facial expression under control again.

"Mark, take Mr. Falk downstairs and tell them to book him for assault on a police officer!" commanded the Chief.

While Mark dragged him out, the boy continued to curse and rail against Ed. When the door was closed behind them, Ironside addressed his Sergeant:

"Now, was it him?"

"No, it wasn't him." Ed was forlorn. He didn't want to be right, he wanted to be Mark's friend. His face remained stony though.

"Ed, are you sure?" Ironside asked insistently.

"I wish I weren't," Ed answered wearily. The person he had seen had moved differently: in a lighter, smoother, more elegant manner.

The Chief tried to understand what was going on in the Sergeant's mind. He had thought that he knew him so well that he could read in his face like an open book... but not this time. He just knew that the man needed help, and helping him meant that he had to solve the King case.

It looked as if Ed would be able to close the Morgan murder case within a day or two, giving the Chief the chance to pick up the investigation on Mrs. King's case.

Therefore Ironside decided to start at the crime scene: Mrs. King's house. Mrs. Lincoln agreed to receive him.

Eve drove him there.

Getting out of the paddy wagon the Chief descried a boy on the corner of the house. He was standing there unbudgingly, like a statue, almost seeming to blend into his surroundings... like a shadow. A shadow? Ironside's gut told him that he should talk to that boy right here, right now.

"Hello, there!" he said as gently as he could, slowly wheeling his chair towards him. The boy didn't move. He was Afro-American, about fifteen years old, skinny and 5 ft 7 tall, perhaps a little more.

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Thank you, dear "anonymous" reviewers! Since I can't write to you personally I would like to tell you how much I appreciate your interest._


	5. Chapter 5

**(Chapter 4)**

His eyes seemed to be fixed on something Ironside could not see.

"Is it alright if we talk a minute?" Ironside asked.

The boy turned around. Obviously he wanted to run off. A tall black woman came out the door of the neighboring house, unintentionally getting in his way. "What's the matter, Jeremy, are you in a hurry?" she asked. Despite the deep creases in her gaunt face that made her look older than she actually was, Ironside thought that she had to be around fourty.

"Madam, would you please come here with the boy?" asked Ironside.

The woman gently turned the boy's shoulders around and steered him towards the man in the wheelchair.

"Hi, Jeremy, I'm Robert Ironside, and this is Miss Whitfield. Is this your mother?"

The woman answered for him: "Yes Sir, Jeremy is my son. I'm Mrs. Wood. What can we do for you?"

"We are with the police and trying to find out what happened to Mrs. King."

Mrs. Wood cringed. "Is Jeremy in troubles again?"

The Chief pricked up his ears. "What do you mean by 'again'?"

"You see – Jeremy is autistic. Sometimes he does not understand what people expect him to do, and when people bullied him in the past he sometimes got angry and fought back, or he took things from them trying to punish them in his helplessness. He doesn't do that anymore now, but Mrs. Lincoln still doesn't like it when he goes to see Mrs. King. She is afraid of him. You don't think that he had anything to do with what happened to Mrs. King, do you?"

Ironside took a good look at the boy.

"Does he often visit Mrs. King?"

"Yes, she is very friendly towards him and he loves her very much."

It was thinkable that something had happened between the autistic boy and the small woman. But would he also have taken the jewelry and the purse? Why should he have wanted to 'punish' her – if he still did do that in spite of what his motherclaimed?

A very old little lady burst in on his thinking. She scuttled over the flagstone path towards the group and vociferated: "So it was this boy Jeremy. I always told my daughter that it was far too dangerous to let him into her apartment. He is so tall and unpredictable, I just knew that something would happen some day! Now it's time the police took care of him and put him in prison. I can only hope that it is not too late for my daughter..."

During her monologue Jeremy's eyes had become wider and wider. He clutched the metal gutter which was fixed at the corner of the house and started shaking it. He caused only a minimal movement of the gutter, but his thin body shifted back and forth and his hands were so tight around the metal that his knuckles turned white.

"You see what he is capable of?" Mrs. Lincoln shouted, confusing the boy even more.

"Please, Madam, calm down!" Ironside tried to soothe the woman, but to no avail.

"Eve, take Mrs. Lincoln inside!"

Not without difficulties Eve managed to comply.

In the meantime Mrs. Wood had tried to appease Jeremy. She spoke to him very quietly, standing near him, but not touching him. He had let go of the gutter and had started flapping his arms like a little bird. Ironside knew that he had to let his mother handle the situation, she knew best how to help him.

Slowly the terrified look on the boy's face vanished and turned into sadness. The movements of his arms became slower, instead he was trembling now as if he were cold.

"Jeremy, don't be afraid," Ironside said friendly. "I don't believe everything people say about others. I won't put you in prison, I promise." The boy turned his head towards the Chief and seemed to be listening.

"You like Mrs. King, don't you?" - Jeremy nodded yes.

"You know that she had to go to hospital, don't you?" - Again he nodded.

"Did you see the ambulance taking her away?" – A third nod. "180, 205" he added to Ironside's surprise.

"Ah, 180, 205? What do you want to tell me with those numbers, Jeremy?"

The boy repeated: "180, 205". Seeking help Ironside looked at the mother.

"I don't know. Jeremy loves numbers, he is actually very good at mathematics. He does not speak much but it doesn't mean that he is dumb, although most people don't understand that."

Ironside believed her.

"Jeremy, did you go to see Mrs. King that evening?" Jeremy denied with a shake of his head.

Charily Mrs. Wood tossed in: "He never lies."

The Chief nodded, wishing somewhere in his heart that she was right. She had enough sorrows with that very special... well, for other people's standards, handicapped child without having to deal with a charge of assault and theft. On the other hand what had happened to Mrs. King would most probably have been an accident if Jeremy was the cause of it. Mark's girlfriend would definitely be off the hook, as well as Jens Falk. Chances would be good that his team would get back on track soon... Angrily he pulled himself together: He wasn't here to dream about what he should hope for or not. He was here to find out the truth.

"Jeremy, did you see somebody come out of the house and climb into a cabriolet before the ambulance arrived?" he asked, unsure if the boy would know what a cabriolet was. He got a nod and another number: "130".

Ironside sighed. This might be crucial information – but as long as he didn't know what the boy was talking about it didn't help any.

"Are you going to take Jeremy with you?" Mrs. Wood asked calmly.

"No, I am not. And by no means would he have to go to prison, not even if he were the cause of Mrs. King's accident."

She exhaled. "Thank you. I'm sure he tells the truth, but I understand that you have to do your duty. Being in prison would be very difficult for Jeremy though."

"I understand, Mrs. Wood. I think that you do very well with him. I wish you and him the support and help you need."

For the first time she smiled, and he caught a glimpse of the loving, friendly soul of this woman. Sometimes life was just not fair, he thought. Some people had to carry a lot more than their fair share.

"Thank you, Sir. With God's help we manage."

Ironside nodded. Turning around he reminded her: "If you find out what these numbers stand for, or if Jeremy is able to tell you something else about that night: please let me know, will you?Here's my card."

In the meantime Mrs. Lincoln had calmed down too. When the Chief rang her bell at the entrance, she came downstairs. She was more than ready to help the friendly, good-looking policeman in his wheelchair who was making small-talk, but sometimes she had troubles hearing or understanding what he said. And since Ironside couldn't climb the stairs to the first floor Eve had to do the investigation in the apartment.

There were two tiny coffee cups on the table. Their handles were far too small to show any usable fingerprints. "My daughter would not have drunk any coffee at this time of the day with a stranger. She would not even have let him in," Mrs. Lincoln assured Eve. Not surprisingly, the door lock had not been forced open: Mrs. King must have known her assailant, Eve thought. As if reading the police woman's mind, Mrs Lincoln said: "And of course she knows Jeremy, I keep telling you it's him! He assaulted my daughter!"

When the women came down again Ironside asked Mrs. Lincoln if Mrs. King had a photo album. With pleasure the old lady went back inside to fetch the album. She sat on the stairs to show it to Eve and the Chief,explaining every detail she remembered.

The detectives tried to find out if one of the persons in the album could have been the intruder. Most of the pictures showed the family: Mrs. King with her mother or her now grown-up son, her daughter-in-law and her grandchildren, who lived in the basement of the house. They were told that Mr. King senior had died soon after Mrs. King had given birth to their only child, Ruben. Consequently she'd had to work as a nanny in order to earn a living, even with the small child. Two pictures showed her at work: One with a white boy named Charles with her own little son beside her, and another with a black baby-girl in a lovely, expensive-looking white dress. 'Allie', was the name of the baby. Ruben, now 32 years old, was in the picture too, about twelve years old, so the picture had been taken around 1949.

"Eve, what could the abbreviation 'Allie' stand for?"

"Probably Allison?" Eve thought aloud. Mrs. Lincoln could not remember the full name of the child her daughter had nursed twenty years ago – just "Allie".

"Why do you ask?" Eve wanted to know.

"I think it could be 'Alicia' too. A beautiful black baby – developing into a beautiful black woman... She would be in her early twenties now. Ed might be right after all. This photo could mean that Alicia is the assailant! Mrs. King would have let her in, and Ed said that she is a drug addict. Perhaps she wanted some money from Mrs. King, and when she didn't get it, she pushed her. Mrs. King had a heart attack and fell."

"Chief, there's no proof of all that."

"No, there isn't. But we will find proof of what happened."

When Eve and the Chief stepped out of the house, Jeremy and his mother were waiting beside the door. The boy tugged at Ironside's sleeve and informed him: "175".

"Thank you, Jeremy," the Chief answered. More than ever he would have liked to know...

"Mrs. Wood – could these numbers be the _weight_ of the people Jeremy saw that evening?" Ed had been the fourth for Jeremy unknown person he had seen that night, and his weight was 175 pounds.

"Oh yes, that's possible. He can tell people's weight quite exactly. Would you like to put him to a test? He likes you, he might go along."

Now he had a little problem at hand... He couldn't let the boy assess the weight of one of the present ladies... and it might be difficult to tell his weight as he was sitting, not to mention that he wasn't keen on letting everybody know about it. At that moment an athletic man went by.

"Sir! Would you please stop for a moment? – Jeremy, could you tell me the weight of this man?"

"190," was the answer.

The passerby laughed. "Now, that's correct. But don't tell my wife, she thinks that I'm still 185!" At that he left, still chuckling.

"Well done, Jeremy, you helped us a lot!" Ironside praised him. And of course he had helped himself too. He had convincingly communicated that he had seen a person of 130 pounds come out of the house and get into the car – which exonerated himself a great deal.

When Mrs. Wood and Jeremy left, the signal of the radio in the paddy wagon resounded. While Ironside made Mrs. Lincoln a compliment about the pretty front garden, charming the little old lady, Eve ran to answer the call. It was Ed, and he did not sound like himself at all. "Eve, the Chief won't like this, and I know that it is none of my business, but I think it's important. I asked the hospital to let me know if there were people asking questions about Mrs. King who didn't give their names. There were four calls, each time a female voice, rather young, so it could not have been old Mrs. Lincoln who just might have forgotten to tell it. She wanted to know if Mrs. King was awake. Now she is, and she might be able to tell what happened to her ... I'm worried about her. Could you please tell that to the Chief?"

Eve, being a sensitive young lady always concerned by her friends' well being, felt how troubled he was. She was glad that he talked at all. "I'll tell him, don't worry," she promised.

In the meantime Ironside had bid farewell to Mrs. Lincoln. Eve went back to him and relayed Ed's message. Not knowing that Ironside had gone from anger to worry long ago she was halfway expecting that he would get angry because the Sergeant had still interfered with this case. He answered thoughtfully: "Ed has a point there. The assailant – perhaps even Alicia - might try to silence Mrs. King in order to protect himself or herself..." He stopped abruptly. They had moved on onto the road, and a dark blue cabriolet was approaching at breakneck speed.


	6. Chapter 6

Ironside let himself fall out of his wheelchair into the flower bed. Eve managed to jump back onto the stepping stones. With a loud screeching the cabriolet pushed the empty wheelchair into the rear of the paddy wagon, got clean of the truck just barely and drove off at high speed.

Eve got up instantly and squatted near the Chief, who was laying on his side. "Chief, are you hurt?"

"Not seriously, I suppose. Get back to that radio and tell Ed to leave everything behind and rush to Mrs. King and stay with her. I think that she is in terrible danger. Hurry!"

Greatly shocked about the close call Ironside had just had – but for his incredible ability to react - Eve was not sure if she could leave him. A look into his eyes told her not to hesitate. She radioed Ed Ironside's message. Ed didn't have time to worry about Eve or the Chief. He dropped the radio and rushed to the hospital.

Then she went back to the Chief. She didn't dare call an ambulance without his consent. He had already pushed his upper body into an upright position, ignoring the pain this caused. "Call headquarters and tell them to send me my spare wheelchair. Itis on our floor somewhere, tell them to look for it."

"Sir, are you sure that you don't need an ambulance?" she asked anxiously, shaken in view of the badly damaged wheelchair.

"No, I'll just have a few bumps and bruises."

Again Eve did as requested.

"Did you see who drove the car?" she asked when she came back to him.

"No. At any rate it was_ not_ Jens Falk."

"But if it were Alicia Grey: how did she know that you would be here? For what happened was sure no accident."

"Mark might have told her - without any bad intentions, I'm sure."

Eve hesitated. "Chief, I'm worried about Ed and Mark and about our team."

"So am I, Eve, so am I."

* * *

Ed drove to the hospital as fast as he dared.

When he entered Mrs. King's room, Alicia was bending over her. "Alicia - stop that at once!" he shouted at her, not quite sure what 'that' was. She turned around as fast as lightning in her smooth way and attacked him with the knife she was holding. Ed had difficulty to put aside his natural courtesy towards women in general and towards Mark's girl in particular. He needed all his skills and his agility to get a good grip at her arms without hurting her. Finally the knife fell out of her hand, but she continued to fight him.

A nurse opened the door and stuck her head in. She cried out. A chaos seemed to develop in the corridor, then two doctors came in running and tried to restrain Ed. "Take your hands off the girl immediately!" one of them shouted. Ed did as requested, and she fled. She would be caught again, he thought equanimous. He showed his badge and the doctors turned pale.

Mrs. King was confused. She had seen Allie and couldn't understand why she had held a knife in her hand, and then this young man had come in, and they had fought for the knife...

One of the doctors ran to the phone downstairs and told the nurse in the lobby to stop the black girl.

Ed didn't care about Alicia right now. He took a seat beside the old lady's bed. He didn't want to question her. He was just relieved that she had survived.

* * *

For Mark's sake the Chief wanted to talk to Alicia and try to help her if possible. A young, inexperienced girl, fallen into the trap of drugs... He knew how fast this could happen to a basically decent young man or woman. And he assumed that today's attacks had happened under drug influence.

When he entered her cell she looked at him disdainfully: "Go away."

"Alicia, let me help you."

"I don't need your help. My parents can afford the best lawyers. How'd you intend to prove that I wanted to hurt Bertha? I didn't, and I couldn't have even if I had wanted to. It will turn out that your boy assaulted _me_."

"Perhaps. And what about your car?"

"I was so upset when I learned that my old nanny was in the hospital that I didn't pay attention and hit a post in the parking garage."

"Who said anything about your car being damaged?"

Alicia stared at him open-mouthed. She knew that she had lost. Then she started to scream: "You have hoodwinked me! That was dirty! And that silly woman! Why didn't she just give me the money? I didn't want to hurt her. It's all her fault! I will tell that your cop pushed her. I'm black, people have to be careful if they discriminate me!"

"Alicia, you are right: what was done to colored people was a terrible injustice, and I do apologize to you for everything people of my color have done wrong. But a dark skin doesn't automatically make a better person out of somebody either."

"And who do you think the jury will believe, me or that white pig?"

There would be proof enough against her. Thinking of Mark and Ed and what this girl had done to their friendship Ironside was so unhappy about her behavior that he didn't feel like answering anymore. Mark had trusted her and she had disappointed him, and because of her Ed had been called names by all sorts of people over the last few days – for being right all along. He turned his wheelchair around and left.

After the fruitless conversation with Alicia, Ironside felt worn out. Nevertheless he wanted to talk to Jens Falk, the spoiled teenager, before going back and having to deal with the discord between Ed and Mark.

Jens was waiting for him in an interrogation room. The Chief rolled in and wordlessly studied the young man. He looked entirely different now. All his arrogance had vanished. In these unfamiliar surroundings he was just an intimidated, helpless kid. Ironside kept quiet, and he saw that Jens started to sweat. Finally the boy broke the silence: "I'm sorry for attacking your Sergeant and spitting on him. He hadn't said a single word against me, had he?"

"No, he hadn't."

"He could have given me the tanning of my life, and he would have been right."

"Yes, he would."

"Why didn't he?"

"Yeah, why?"

Jens seemed to consider this question thoroughly.

"Because he is strong enough that he doesn't need to prove anything to others."

"U-hu."

"And you are strong too, everybody does what you say."

Ironside nodded.

"How do you do it – I mean: How can you sit in a wheelchair and be so strong?"

"What do you think?"

This took even more thinking. "You don't just shout around. You have earned the respect of the people around you, because you are good at what you do, and they are proud to be your friends or to work for you."

"Could be."

"I would like to be that way too, but I'm not good at what I do, and not even my parents are proud of me. They are not even proud of themselves. I would like them to be proud."

"It's hard work."

"Can't you help me find a start?"

"What do you think would make your parents proud of you or of themselves?"

Jens had to think about that several minutes.

"What if I write a letter to each of them that I am sorry for what I did – not only today – and write down what _they_ are good at?"

"That could be a start."

"And what about my attack on Sgt. Brown?"

"He will have to decide if he wants to press charges against you. Come up to my office when you have written those letters, show them to him and apologize. As you said: Sgt. Brown doesn't need to prove anything to anybody."

Jens nodded, and Ironside saw something new in his face: the intention of doing the right thing – and hope.

* * *

Wheeling his way back to his office the Chief reflected that Jens had proved to be a smart young person. He seemed to be willing to get his life back on track and try to be more attentive to others around him, starting with his family.

Ironside's thoughts were brought back to his 'family'. The case may be solved but he still had to face the troubles in his own team...and this time it didn't concern teenagers or strangers, but two fine young men who seemed to have hurt each other – unintentionally, but badly. This issue would be the real challenge.


	7. Chapter 7

When Ed entered the office Mark was sitting at the table, obviously depressed.

The traces of dark blue paint on Ironside's damaged wheelchair matched the color of Alicia's car. Mark had read the report.

Ed hesitated to sit down. "I'm sorry," he said, not knowing how to show Mark that he really was.

Mark pushed his chair back angrily. He felt an urgent need to hurt the Sergeant who had hurt him so badly. He turned around towards Brown: "So you were right and I was wrong. And Alicia's wrongdoings will be used against all colored people!"

"True. Sorry about that too." Ed sounded sad, yet Mark couldn't accept his apology. He needed an outlet for his fury. "It must feel good to come down on a friend like a ton of bricks." He clenched his fists, ready to attack the other man.

Ed didn't budge. This time he looked directly into Mark's eyes. "No, Mark, not again. Not today. Please." His voice was hoarse and low. He would not be able to take another beating. This time he would have to defend himself, and one of them – or both – would get hurt, perhaps seriously. He didn't want that to happen but there was not much he could do to prevent it if Mark went through with it. "Please."

Surprised Mark stopped short and tilted his head: "I would sure like to know why I should not clobber you here and now. Perhaps 'cos daddy Ironside will come too late to protect you?"

Ed remained silent.

"Now, why?!" Mark pushed.

"Vietnam," Ed whispered.

Finally the penny dropped. Mark could have slapped himself. Of course he had known that Ed had been wounded in Vietnam, but he didn't know the details, and he hadn't been aware that the injury could still weaken his back in extreme situations.

"Last time I took you on I hurt you," he stated slowly, seemingly emotionless.

Ed nodded, embarrassed. Mark understood everything now: That was why Ed moved so stiffly... and that explained his strange behavior. It had never been rejection. The creases on Ed's pale face revealed that he was still in pain. Why on earth hadn't he said anything?

"And you didn't want me to know so I wouldn't feel guilty about it..." Ed had wanted to protect _him_! "Because our friendship _is_ important to you..."

He took a deep breath. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked, pointing at Ed's back.

Ed understood that right now he had the easier task of the two of them. "No, thanks." He managed a cross between a grimace and a smile, and Mark thought that by Ed's standards and with a little imagination this could almost be considered as a mischievous grin. "But I don't really want to find out if I could still beat you!"

Ironside, who had quietly rolled in, had overheard the better part of the conversation. He knew enough now, and he felt relieved beyond belief. Sliding down the end of the ramp he said: "Sergeant, go home and take two days off or as long as you need to get back on your feet."

Almost beseechingly Ed protested: "Sir, I can handle this!"

Of course he could. Without the additional trouble of a quarrel with his friend he could manage the physical pain, Ironside was sure of that. It was what he did all too often himself. The difference was that Ed didn't need to. The Chief didn't want his friends to be like him. They should be young and carefree, all of them. How should he tell that to Ed without sounding pathetic? He chose his favorite grumpy mode:

"Of course you can, the way you have these last few days: stepping on everybody's toes. And then you expect me to keep everybody off your back, from teenagers to law students to police commissioners! Forget it, Sergeant!" Then his voice softened. "Go home, Ed – but before you do, let's toast to your everlasting friendship."


End file.
